Virtuoso
by Warrior of Ice
Summary: Zakary Atalo is a musical prodigy who thinks he has lost his touch and his ability to perform. Will taking a teaching job and meeting a certain bright young student be enough to bring his music back, or end his career forever? A/Z, Ficathon 2011 entry
1. November

**A/N**: One of two Ficathon 2011 entries (the other is _Two Truths and a Lie_). Check out Shitennou Forums for reveals and zipfile!  
>I'm pretty happy with how this one turned out; it's kind of how I would have liked <em>Love at Fifth Sight<em> to have turned out, so for anyone out there still holding out hope, please accept this offering in its stead. Even though A/Z is my favorite pairing, it surprises me how few A/Z-centric fics I've written, so it was also quite nice to focus entirely on them. I picture Zak to be 26 when they first meet, while Ami has just turned 21.

* * *

><p>Virtuoso<p>

* * *

><p><em>November<em>

Thank God for books and music and things I can think about.

_Flowers for Algernon, _Daniel Keyes

* * *

><p>Today we'll work on something new – it's time you learned how to play with vibrato."<p>

In one quick moment, all her worries about deadlines, lab research, and classes fell away, like the tide rushing from the shore.

"You seem excited," Zak observed, watching as her eyes lit up.

She gave him that lovely, shy smile which was rarer than a clear day in February. "Oh, yes. Vibrato is what gives the music its fullness. Without it, the sound can still be pretty, but it doesn't evoke the same richness of feeling."

More softly, she added, "You have a beautiful vibrato."

If the compliment had come from anyone else, he would have taken it as a statement of the obvious – he was a master flautist, after all, a true virtuoso. But since she had been the one to say it, he felt absurdly pleased. "I'm glad you think so. But it's not easy, and it takes time to develop, so don't think you're walking out of here with a vibrato like mine today."

She nodded seriously, used to his casual arrogance by now. It was no worse than what she faced from many of her fellow students and the professor whose lab she worked in, and in many ways, it was easier to stand.

"Think of it as a series of pulsations being produced by your muscles. It begins in your stomach and moves to your throat and diaphragm."

Without warning, he took her free hand and pressed her palm flat against her stomach. She nearly dropped her flute.

"Um–"

Ignoring her fierce blush, Zak ordered, "Cough."

"What?"

"Cough! You know." His demonstration made her wonder if he had contracted tuberculosis or the debilitating flu that always seemed to be going around the dorms.

"Eh-eh," she coughed in a thin echo. He still hadn't removed his hand, and the texture and warmth of his skin were distracting her.

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you spit like a girl, too?"

She glared at him and coughed harder.

"Better. Do you feel that? Your stomach muscles contracting?"

"Yes."

He took his hand away, and she stepped back, her cheeks still flushed. "Keep doing it, but without coughing or using your throat at all. Vary the speed – start slow, then speed up the rhythm, and then slow down again. You're in very good shape, so it shouldn't be too hard. I didn't realize sit ups were required of lab slaves."

"They're not. I used to be on my high school swim team," she explained. "I still swim from time to time."

"Intelligent, athletic, _and_ musical – what can't you do, Miss Mizuno?" he asked, putting the distance firmly between them as he stepped away and picked up her music books.

_Get your attention_.

"Well, at the moment, play with vibrato and get by on less than six hours of sleep a night," she responded, striving for the same light tone that he used.

He turned around again. "You only sleep six hours a night? Every night?"

"Well, sometimes I allow for seven and a half on Saturdays."

"How are you still alive?" he demanded.

Ami glanced at him bemusedly. "Plenty of people do the same or get by on even less sleep than that. I think by definition, college students are chronically sleep-deprived."

"Most of them can get by on six hours or less on any given night because they crash for fourteen hours on the weekends."

She shrugged, undisturbed. "It's perfectly fine. A normal sleep cycle lasts about ninety minutes on average, so I always make sure to get some multiple of that. I would feel more tired if I slept for eight hours, for example."

Zak shook his head, thinking of the glorious days when he allowed himself to sleep past noon. Even when he was on tour, his manager knew he had to be allotted at least one day out of seven where nothing was scheduled before three in the afternoon.

It had been two years since his last tour. One year, nine months, and ten days since he had last performed in front of an audience. He swore it wouldn't be his last performance. He always feared it might be.


	2. December

Virtuoso

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><p><em>December<em>

One day, when I am a braver man, I will tell her these things, and then I will look her in the eye tell her I love her and ask her to be only mine. But until that day, we're just friends.

_Already Dead, _Charlie Huston

* * *

><p>Zak closed the door after his last student of the day, resisting the urge to slam it shut. He sank down onto the piano bench and buried his face in his hands. "Of course, Jay," he muttered to his absent friend, "giving flute lessons to hot college students who also happen to be serious musicians. How could it not help?"<p>

He remembered Jaden's blithe offer, _"I'll screen them for you to make sure they're all over the age of consent." _

They were all over the age of consent. It didn't guarantee that they had a shred of skill. It didn't guarantee that they practiced. It didn't guarantee that they could count for beans, and it didn't guarantee that they loved music. Worst of all were the ones who worked hard and loved the music, loved their instrument, even loved _him_ (or whatever idol they made him out to be), and would never get to where they wanted to be. It was disheartening to see all that hope and effort going to waste.

He pressed his fingers harder against his temples and groaned. _I should have listened to Keth. _He recalled his friend's words all too clearly: "_Sometimes you need time away from the things you love, even when they're the things you love the most_."

How had he gotten here again?

_Jaden was waiting for him outside the practice room, his normally-cheerful face taut with anxiety. "Any luck?"_

_The thin line of Zak's mouth was answer enough._

_"Look, Zak… I've been thinking. There's an opening for a flute teacher at Juilliard. I think they would jump at the chance to have you."_

_Zak stared at him. "Me? Teach? Where did you get a crazy idea like that from?"_

_"Just hear me out, all right? You need a break from performing, but can you honestly imagine yourself doing something unrelated to music?"_

_Jaden had a point. The mental image of himself dressed in a suit, commuting to an office and a 9-to-5 job seemed not only dull, but inescapably foreign to him. Worse, it scared him. _

"_Going back to the root of things, but from the other side – being the teacher instead of the student – it could be good for you. And it's Juilliard, which has quite a bit of clout in the circles you run in."_

_He frowned, considering._

_"Besides, think of all the hot, talented college girls you'd be meeting, who would also happen to be serious musicians."_

_Zak raised his eyebrows. "First, it's inappropriate for a teacher to have relationships with his students. Second, what makes you think they'll be hot?"_

_Jaden just grinned at him._

_He didn't agree to think about it, but three days later, he picked up the phone and dialed Jaden's number. "How long?"_

_"Just for a semester. Sixteen weeks."_

_"Have you–"_

_"They promised, no performances."_

Sixteen weeks. It was short enough that he didn't feel trapped. Long enough to provide some sense of stability, the illusion that he had a purpose and a semi-routine schedule again. His predecessor was out on maternity leave and decided, towards the end of fall semester, that she'd like some more time at home with her child. When the music department asked if he would be willing to stay for the spring semester, he accepted, trying to ignore pressure coiling at the base of his neck and waiting to strike from there.

He was a better teacher than he thought he would be. His music still hadn't come back.

Ami was one of only three beginners among his students, a college student studying at Columbia. She had started playing flute a year ago under the instruction of Lunaria Weiss, his predecessor. He hadn't had high hopes of her to start with, but she had changed his mind in three weeks. She didn't play any other instruments, but she had learned to read music on her own. She learned so fast, and she kept time like an angel. He could never tell her, but her lesson was the best hour of his entire week.


	3. January, 2nd week

Virtuoso

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><p><em>January, 2nd week<em>

If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like having the moment all over again.

_Rebecca, _Daphne du Maurier

* * *

><p>She came in with the smell of rain and unscented soap clinging to her skin.<p>

Since he had his back to the door, Zak took the opportunity to inhale deeply. His plans to greet her the same way he greeted all his students went to pieces when he turned around.

His mouth opened slightly and stayed that way, but no sound escaped his lips. Ami blinked, trying to figure out what could be the matter. His usual scent of lavender and mint wafted towards her from his slightly disordered curls. Lavender – true lavender – had always smelled masculine to her, not at all feminine. It gave her a sneaking suspicion as to what was causing the stunned expression on his face, and she flushed in mortification.

"I'm sorry – is it the smell?"

"What?" he asked hoarsely.

"I was hoping the shower would get rid of the smell… I'm afraid the biology building always starts smelling like frogs at this time of the year," she said apologetically. "The second semester introductory biology course involves a lot of dissection."

Zak closed his eyes. He was not going to think of her in the shower. That way lay madness.

_Think of frogs. Dissected frogs. Trays and trays of dissected frogs. Not showers. Not even cold showers. Just frogs._

"Zakary?" she asked uncertainly.

"You smell– " _delicious. Tempting as hell._ "—fine. But aren't you cold?" he asked finally.

Ami glanced down at herself. The day had started out clear, but between her last class of the day and her lesson with Zak, she had gotten drenched in a sudden rain shower and hadn't had her umbrella with her. However, the white blouse she was wearing was made of a fairly thin material and should dry quickly.

"Oh, no, I'm hardly ever cold," she assured him. "And the heat is always turned up so high in this building, I'm sure I'll be dry in no time."

Zak managed a feeble smile and decided the best course of action was to look away and change the subject.

"So. More on your vibrato," he said, speaking in a rapid, clipped tone. "This week I want you to work on this exercise: focus on blowing more and less air into the flute, starting with a pattern of quarter notes, moving to eighth notes, then triplets, sixteenth notes, and if you can manage, faster than that. Use your stomach muscles to control the amount and speed of the air you're using. When the rhythm becomes rapid enough, the vibrato will vibrate upwards from your stomach to your diaphragm and throat."

Taking up his flute again, he twisted off just the headjoint and raised it to his lips, showing her what he meant. He ran through the exercise once, watching her absorb his instructions with the same careful, close attention he suspected she gave to everything she did.

"All right. Now I'm going to do it again. When I transition from the sixteenth and thirty-second notes to the speed the vibrato should be at, watch my throat."

He tapped a spot on his neck about an inch and a half down from his ear, just under his jaw. "You should be able to tell when the vibrato moves up here."

She fixed her eyes on that spot obediently. From just the right angle, she could see the light strike the gold hairs glistening along his jaw line. When he reached the transitioning point, she watched in fascination as a small oval of muscle in his throat started to vibrate, moving faster than a hummingbird's wings. She wondered what would happen if she were to press her lips there, how it would feel to have that flutter that was faster than his heartbeat pulse against her mouth.


	4. January, 4th week

Virtuoso

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><p><em>January, 4th week<em>

I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.

_Alice in Wonderland, _Lewis Carroll

* * *

><p>She canceled her lesson two weeks in a row. It was unavoidable, since medical school interviews weren't really scheduled around the interviewees' convenience.<p>

Those weeks seemed endless to him, leached of color and interest. He doubted she was getting even her usual six hours of sleep and wondered if she was keeping herself hydrated. Air travel was hell on the skin – he knew that better than anyone.

One night, he woke to a strange stillness in the air. He walked out of his bedroom and sat before the windows, watching the snow fall thickly to the ground. It was lighter outdoors than inside his apartment. When the black of the asphalt had been blanketed by the snow, he got up and walked over to the baby grand piano that Jaden had helped him muscle into the apartment. Quietly, he began to practice the accompaniment to the Bolling Sentimentale*, which he had assigned to Ami at the end of their last lesson. The first wistful notes flowed onto the air like sapphire drops spilled from fountains at midnight.

As he played, he thought back to the first time he had performed this piece in a recital. He had miscounted the beats during a long rest and come in too early, and the pianist had had to skip ahead to catch up to him. He thought of the awkward, skinny youth he had been, and what it had been like being one of only two male flute players in the band, the other of whom quit after two years. He thought of the hours of hard work it had taken to develop the proper embouchure, and how getting braces had nearly ended his budding career. He thought of all the sessions at the gym it had taken to strengthen his lungs and add enough and maintain the muscle on his wiry frame, and how it never stopped demanding everything he had to give and more.

Finally, he thought about his first teacher and later friend, who had been possessed of a shock of untidy white hair, long, elegant fingers, and an inexhaustible supply of patience. Eli was often on his mind now, particularly when he was thinking about how to teach his own students. Eli had been old even when Zak had first started taking lessons with him, but his face and playing had been surprisingly youthful. Eli's Sentimentale was perfect – sweetly lyrical and tender, but lively and whimsical at the same time. The name Zakary Atalo had since eclipsed that of Eli Helios, but he never forgot the debt he owed his mentor.

When the song was done, he closed the piano lid and rested his elbows on the stand, putting his head down. Before they could fall onto the scarred dark wood, he dashed the tears away.

The next day, Ami called to tell him that her interviews were over, and that she would be back for her next lesson.

* * *

><p>* This is a really lovely piece for flute and jazz piano by Claude Bolling.<p> 


	5. February, 1st week

Virtuoso

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><p><em>February, 1st week<em>

Goddamn sometimes I only want this feeling to stay and last.

_How We Are Hungry, _Dave Eggers

* * *

><p>Ami played the Sentimentale beautifully, but there was no vibrato.<p>

"No luck yet?" he asked sympathetically. Judging from the heavy shadows under his eyes, he hadn't been sleeping well. The redness of the lids made his eyes seem greener.

"No, I don't seem to be getting the hang of it." She paused, then asked, "Can you show me the procedure again?"

Her wording made him smile slightly. "Of course. Try to think of it as something that develops organically rather than through a formula. And you don't want the rhythm to be too even, either. Otherwise the vibrato will sound too mechanical, and there won't be any life to it."

Zak picked up his flute and told her, "Put your fingers on my stomach, below the ribs." Seeing her hesitate, he lowered the flute again and showed her want he wanted her to do.

Timidly, Ami placed her second and third fingers together lightly against his shirt, feeling the soft cotton against her fingers and the hint of warm skin below.

"Harder. You won't be able to feel anything that way."

She was blushing so hotly that she didn't notice his voice was slightly breathless, something that never happened even when he had been playing through four lessons in a row.

Her fingers moved closer by an infinitesimal amount.

He took his right hand off the keys, using just his left to support the flute, and placed his hand over hers until she was applying the right amount of pressure. "There. Don't be afraid; you're not hurting me."

Ami nodded wordlessly. Three of her fingers curled tightly into each other.

Her other two fingers were pressed against him, and they rose slightly with the movement of his body as he inhaled deeply. Beneath his shirt, she could feel the hard planes of his stomach, and below the shallow layer of flesh, his even harder abdominal muscles. She held her breath as those well-defined muscles contracted, pushing powerfully against her fingertips.

He played for as long as he could bear it, thankful that she kept her fingers still and her eyes down. If she had looked up, she might have seen the raw need in his eyes. If she had slid her fingers either upwards or downwards… He shivered at the thought of those careful, methodical fingers gliding over him.

The instant the door shut, he collapsed into the nearest chair. He wasn't sure he would make it through their lesson on double tonguing.


	6. February, 2nd week

Virtuoso

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><p><em>February, 2nd week<em>

You deserve good things, and I want to be one of them.

_Impulse, _Ellen Hopkins

* * *

><p>In between lessons, Jaden called for his weekly check-in. As usual, Zak had no answers for him: no idea when he would be able to start touring again, no idea when he would be ready to audition for another orchestra seat, and no idea if he was any closer to knowing. But he did have a question.<p>

"So tell me about Marsella Cabrera."

A long pause. "What do you want to know about her?" Jaden asked warily.

"Well, I guess the first thing I want to know is why you haven't mentioned her." A spike of antagonism brooded beneath his casual tone.

"You seem to be sufficiently well-informed without my help," Jaden replied coolly. "As I understand it, my job is to organize your schedule and oversee your contracts, not fill you in on irrelevant gossip."

"We appear to be competitors for the same positions. It seems like she should be highly relevant to you. From what I've heard, she's taking Europe by storm." _And oh, how quickly they've forgotten me_.

"Zak–"

"Sorry, I've got to get back to my day job now. My student's coming in." He ended the call without another word and set his phone to silent.

Right on time, Ami knocked softly, then walked through the door. They finished going through her exercises before he realized that her responses were quieter and shorter than usual, and that her normally straight shoulders were slightly hunched. The anger and fear gnawing at him receded when he saw the haunted look in her eyes mirroring that in his own.

"Bad week?"

"Still no vibrato, I'm afraid."

"I noticed. Besides that?"

Ami glanced up at him, then away. "I…no, nothing."

"Never mind. It's none of my business."

She bit her lip. "It's not a big deal; I'm simply overreacting. One can't expect to be successful all the time, after all."

He waited patiently.

"I was rejected from Stanford."

Zak was surprised to feel a hot rush of anger flood through him. "Then they're idiots."

"Well… I guess I'm just not what they're looking for."

"Should I repeat myself?" He put down his instrument and strode across the room to shove open the window. "I hate all these endless hoops you have to jump through, these trivial little popularity contests where people who barely know anything about you try to judge you."

Seeing that she looked more alarmed than sad now, he stopped and let the cool breezes rush over him. "It's a damn shame, and I'm sorry to hear it, Ami. But I'm sure you'll hear good news soon."

She smiled at him for the first time that day. "Thank you, Zak."

"Let's play something. Pick your favorite thing from this week," he said abruptly.

To his surprise, she chose one of the Kuhlau duets from Opus 39.

"Not a solo piece?" he asked.

Ami shook her head. "No. I don't really like playing by myself, you know." Somehow, he had known it.

Although they each had their own distractions, they played well that day. She counted each of her rests properly, and he picked up on all her cues. Even though he performed primarily with a pianist or orchestras, Zak always savored the feeling that came with playing duets. There was just something there in playing with another flautist that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He loved the seamless handing off of a phrase, hearing the melody he had just played being echoed and re-interpreted by his partner, the breathless pause at the conclusion when they finished on a strong and dramatic downbeat together, as if the room itself was waiting for more. It was the conversation he never tired of having.

At the end of the piece, their eyes met. He was surprised and gratified to see the same glow of energy and joy he felt reflected in her expression, even though he knew the muscles of her arms and face must be aching. After their lesson ended, he called Jaden back.

"Yeah?" came the tired voice.

Better than he was expecting. He'd been afraid the call would go straight to voicemail. "I'm sorry, Jay."

"It's all right. Forget it."

"No, really, I–"

"It'll come back, Zak. I know it will."

He closed his eyes.

"I wouldn't represent Marsella Cabrera if she paid me a million dollars," Jaden continued.

He smiled despite himself. "Only if she offered you two million dollars, right?"

"Not even then. When she plays, the music… it has no heart. And even if it did, you're irreplaceable, you know that? They called James Galway 'The Man With the Golden Flute' and Eli Helios 'Pegasus.' You, they call 'Pan.' Chiba called me yesterday to ask when you'd be back in commission. He was hoping you would audition in the fall."

Zak smiled at the thought of Mamoru Chiba of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, who conducted so regally that his nickname was "The Prince."

"How do you know?" _That I'm really irreplaceable. That the music will come back to me. That this isn't the end._

Jaden's heart contracted at the pain and uncertainty in his friend's voice. "The music is who you are. It's who you always will be. Besides, I have a bet running with Nick on when, not if."

"Thanks, Jay. I'm not going to ask you your timeline, but I hope you win."

"I'm sure I will. Now get back to work so you can pay my fee – I hear I'm worth two million these days." This time, Jaden was laughing when Zak hung up on him.


	7. February, 4th week

Virtuoso

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><p><em>February, 4th week<em>

There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.

_Dracula, _Bram Stoker

* * *

><p>One week, she came in touched by snowflakes and happiness, and his breath caught in his throat. He cleared it quickly, then asked, "So, how did you make out with the vibrato this week?"<p>

"I'm getting a hint of it, I think," she responded.

"And the med schools?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she smiled. "I received acceptances from Harvard and Penn."

He had to stop himself from stepping forward to hug her. "Congratulations. It's well deserved. Didn't I tell you not to worry?"

At the end of their lesson, she asked him, "Do you think it'll ever come? The vibrato?"

He answered without hesitating. "Yes, I do. Like I said, these things take time. You have plenty of time."

Softly, she replied, "Two and a half months."

"What?"

"There are two and a half months until our last lesson."

Zak froze. How had the end of February gotten here so quickly? Was it possible that they had known each other for only six months?

"Will you stay for another year?" she asked him.

"No. This is my last semester." The words were bittersweet in his mouth, like blood oranges, but oddly freeing.

"Mine as well."

His high spirits deserted him suddenly. In all likelihood, they would never see each other again. She was off to whatever top-ranked medical school she chose, and he… did not know where he was going. It wasn't that he begrudged her success – he'd meant what he said about her deserving it. It was just that the void in his life suddenly seemed suffocating when matched with the fullness of hers.

"You won't continue taking lessons in medical school, will you?" He tried not to sound accusatory, but he was afraid it came out that way.

"Probably not," Ami admitted.

"Is medicine more important than music?"

"Does it have to be more or less so?" she countered.

Zak sighed, knowing she was right, and asked the question he had really wanted to ask all along. "Will it have mattered to you at all, learning how to play?"

She opened her mouth to say "Of course," but the look of quiet defeat on his face told her it wouldn't be enough. "Yes. You never asked why I started taking lessons in my junior year of college. But I would guess that you don't have many students who start so late."

He shook his head. At the beginning of the semester, he'd been too depressed to pry into his students' motivations, and it had seemed indelicate to bring it up later on.

"I didn't have the opportunity, or the inclination to, earlier. My parents are…separated. My mother is a doctor. My father is an artist, a painter. He left us when I was quite young, and there was plenty of empty space in our house, but no room in our lives for the arts after that. It wasn't until I got to college and was able to explore on my own that I realized how much I wanted to experience this very neglected part of my life."

She took a breath, drawing on her courage to continue telling him the things she had never told anyone else. "Before, I wondered if art made people cruel, or simply careless. As if having that much and that type of talent is so all-encompassing that it just pushes everything else out of its way. But you've shown me that that's not the case. You have infinitely more talent than he does, but you're also much kinder. I am very grateful to you, Zak."

It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to take her chin in his hands and kiss her as deeply as her words had moved him.

"I think I'm the one who should be grateful."


	8. May

Virtuoso

* * *

><p><em>May<em>

You were a summer gift, one I'll always treasure. You were a dream I never wanted to wake up from. You opened my eyes to things I'll never really see. You're the best thing that will ever happen to me.

_Crank, _Ellen Hopkins

* * *

><p>In time, more acceptance letters came, but not her vibrato. Ami was planning to move to Boston in the fall. They finished the showy and fiery Bolero** in their last lesson, a piece that, unexpectedly, she loved.<p>

As he got up from the piano, he said, "Ami, it doesn't matter to me that you started late, or that you won't continue your lessons in medical school. But if it gives you pleasure, I hope you'll keep playing sometimes."

She smiled at him, so brightly that he felt some of his own burdens lighten. "It does. I will. It's one of the things I'm taking away with me this year that makes me happiest, this ability to make music and all these beautiful songs we've played together."

"Well, I'm sure the ability to save lives is much more impressive."

"I don't know if I'd agree with that, but you can't do it all the time, anyway."

They smiled at each other, and Ami put out her hand first. As he took it in his larger, warmer one, she felt all the desire she had felt for him during the past year course through her, stronger and sweeter than before, pulling her towards him.

"Thank you. I am so happy that I had the chance to meet you and learn from you this year, and I wish you all the best." _I will never forget you._

"You were a wonderful student. Good luck with everything – not that you'll need it. But make sure to set a good example for your patients and get more sleep, Dr. Mizuno." When she laughed, he relinquished his hold on her reluctantly.

"Good bye, Zak."

"Good bye, Ami."

* * *

><p>** Émile Pessard's Bolero – a lot of fun, full of fire and dash.<p> 


	9. June

Virtuoso

* * *

><p><em>June<em>

The very essence of romance is uncertainty.

_The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays, _Oscar Wilde

* * *

><p>"The hallway's too narrow," Jaden complained as the three perspiring men tried to get the baby grand down the second flight of stairs.<p>

"How did you two ever get this thing in here?" Keth asked, even though he knew it was a useless effort. He had learned from their college days together that Zak and Jaden had a gift – or in his experience, a curse – for being able to get any piece of furniture into the house, but zero ability to move it out again.

Zak only smiled, blissfully happy despite the fact that the piano was dangerously close to crushing his very talented fingers.

He'd thought about himself, and about Eli. He had even thought about Marsella Cabrera and listened to one of her recordings, something he hadn't been able to bring himself to do before. He thought about Ami, often, but he also thought about all his other students, gifted and ungifted – their hopes and dreams, their successes and their tragedies, the pieces of their worlds that they had shared with him. And he knew he was ready, not to go back, but forward.

As they sat on the steps, guzzling water and letting the scant June breeze whisk away their perspiration, Zak filled them in on some of the details of the past year that he had left out in previous conversations.

"Ah hah! I knew there was a girl involved," Jaden said smugly.

"Well… I think it always would have come back to me. But she probably helped things along more quickly," he admitted.

"And now? Do we get to meet this miracle worker?"

Zak's smile turned wistful. "I don't think so, Jay."

"What? Why not?" Not once, in all their long acquaintance, had Jaden ever known Zak not to have succeeded with a woman he talked about that way. Of course, his vanity was such that it didn't allow him to speak of his failures, but still, they were rare enough.

He wouldn't answer, but he did say, "If anyone named Ami Mizuno ever buys a ticket to a concert, please ask her to wait for me."


	10. One Year Later: June, 8 pm

Virtuoso

* * *

><p><em>One Year Later: June, 8 pm<em>

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less, but to dream more, to dream all the time.

_Remembrance of Things Past, _Marcel Proust

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><p>She purchased her ticket at the last minute. Jaden didn't have time to tell him, but Zak spotted her in the fourth row the moment his eyes adjusted to the stage lights. Her hair was longer and her eyes brighter than the shimmering silver dress she wore, but he would have recognized her anywhere. He knew, by the third piece, that it was the best concert he had ever given.<p>

Zak lost count of the curtain calls, but he knew there were more of them than he had ever received. Even as he bowed gratefully with his hand over his heart, even when he acknowledged the accompanist, even though the curtain came between them, he kept his eyes on her. When Jaden told him there was time for an encore piece, he played the Sentimentale.

At last, the people in the audience got reluctantly to their feet, sighing that the night of exquisite music had come to an end. Ami followed those exiting the aisle to her left, pausing when a handsome man with short blond hair addressed her. "Miss Mizuno? Ami Mizuno?"

"Yes?"

Jaden smiled rakishly. _I knew Zak was wrong about the chances of our meeting each other. _"Would you like to attend the private reception being held for Mr. Atalo following the concert?"

"Ah– "

He smiled, watching her eyes dart up to the now-concealed stage and back to him.

"I'd be happy to escort you." He offered her his arm and guided her through the crowd until they reached a small salon at the side of the concert hall. For now, it was empty.

"If you'd just wait here, he should arrive soon. Please feel free to help yourself to the refreshments," he told her, indicating the elegant arrangement of champagne, fruit, and flowers on the side table.

She thanked him but stayed away from the food. She smoothed her skirt with nervous fingers, wondering who else would be there, and what she would say to him. She wondered how Jaden had known who she was, and tried not to read too much into it. Perhaps they kept a list of all Zak's former students. It would be like him. Most of his students had been aspiring musicians, and the chance to mingle with the patrons and world-class musicians who attended such receptions would have been a dream come true for them. She wasn't one of them – not a musician, and hoping only to see him. She hoped he would be happy to see her.


	11. June, 10:30 pm

Virtuoso

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><p><em>June, 10:30 pm<em>

There are so many other places we could have ended up, but I have to believe none of them would have felt this right. "All I want is you" is not entirely true. I want so much more, and with you I think I can get it.

_The Realm of Possibility, _David Levithan

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><p>Zak carried an armful of white lilies that had been thrust on him as he was leaving the stage by someone whose face he couldn't remember. He paused two steps from the open doorway, feeling his heart race in his chest. He thought that if he were asked to play right now, he would run out of breath before he completed the first phrase.<p>

Trying to compose himself, he closed his eyes and played a game that was now very familiar to him: he imagined himself back over a year ago, to that small, light-filled music room with yellow pine floors, where it was just the two of them. Only this time around, she was the one waiting for him to step inside. He prepared himself to give her his normal greeting, as if they had last seen each other the week before.

When he entered the room and found her eyes on him, he was too nervous to smile. But she did, and it was the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

"Hello, Zak," she said.

His white tuxedo was a far cry from the faded jeans and button-up shirts he had worn to his lessons. His coppery hair was shorter and looked like it had been trimmed by a master hand, but the newly-tamed curls still reached past his shoulders. There was no hint of a smile on his face, and she hoped that he remembered her.

"You gave such a wonderful performance tonight. It was truly breathtaking."

He managed to find his voice at last. "Thank you. It's nice to see you again."

She couldn't tell what he was thinking or how much time they would have alone together, so she searched desperately for something to say. "When I heard you were touring again, I wanted to attend one of your first performances, but the tickets were even harder to get than I expected, and then, well, exams came around."

"When I saw you in the audience, it was – it meant a lot to me, Ami."

Her eyes sparkled when she told him, "I can play the Sentimentale with vibrato now."

The smile that broke out on that beautiful, mobile mouth she longed to kiss was blinding. "I hope you'll play it for me sometime, then."

She would have looked towards the doorway, but it was so hard to take her eyes from his. "Will they be looking for you?"

"Who?"

"The…others?"

He grinned. "Jaden's probably holding them off. I was hoping we could talk, unless you have somewhere to go." _Someone to go to. _

The thought made his head spin. When she assured him that she didn't, he asked her, "Do you enjoy living in Boston?"

"Very much. It snows a lot there." Most other people complained of such things, but the pleasure in her voice was clear.

"I'll be auditioning for a position with the Boston Symphony Orchestra this fall," he told her, searching for and finding the surprised happiness in her eyes. "How are you finding medical school?"

"It has its ups and downs, but overall I like it very much. It feels like I'm making progress and moving forward."

"I'm glad to hear it. And what do you think of your fellow students?" Before she could answer, he continued slyly, "I hear that there's a dearth of single men in medical school. Have you found that to be the case, in your experience?"

She smiled again. "I wouldn't know. I have to admit, I haven't been looking too closely."

"No?" He smiled back. "What a coincidence. Neither have I – until tonight, when I saw you again."

"My heart is free."

He took the two steps that closed the distance between them swiftly and took her hand. This time, he kept her fingers in his, and she didn't blush. "Mine isn't."

When he leaned down to kiss her, she rose on her toes to meet him halfway. She rested her other hand against his chest, where she felt his heartbeat instead of his vibrato, and the smell of lavender, mint, and the lilies crushed between them filled her nose. It might not be forever, but it felt like it would be.

_Fin_


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